At the next roundtable meeting of the SUSDOOVER force, the topic was a man who had been dead for half a century.

Lisa Starling sat in the same spot she had before. She had a note pad and was intently watching as Chief Quincy got underway. Today would not be a lecture as Quincy had done before. Today, there would be a brief presentation of the background material, but after that, it would be a discussion. Plans to capture Susana Alvarez Lecter were underway.

Lisa found some degree of satisfaction in the message Chief Quincy had written on the whiteboard before the meeting began. She knew who it was aimed at.

LEAVE YOUR STRIPES AT THE DOOR.

This time, she was one of the first in the door. This time, she was determined to stick up for herself. This time, she wore pants.

Lisa knew that when her cousin had walked these halls, she had developed a reputation for being headstrong and difficult to get along with. She had tried to be pleasant, deferential, and a team player. It had worked with most of the team. It hadn't with DeGraff. She saw him come in and scowl briefly when he saw her.

Chief Quincy's background was rather quick. A picture of a man in a cowboy hat flashed on the screen.

"This is John Starling," Chief Quincy said. "Clarice Starling's father and Susana Alvarez's grandfather. The anniversary of his death is three days from now."

"We ought to stake out his grave on that say," DeGraff said. "Slam dunk. She'll visit it."

Lisa leaned forward and cleared her throat. DeGraff scowled again.

"With all due respect, sir, I doubt she will," she began. "The last time Susana Alvarez visited his grave, she was almost arrested and got hit by a truck. She may try to visit it, but she'll probably do so the day before."

"What makes you say that?" asked Chief Quincy. His tone betrayed interest, not scorn.

"Because of what happened before," she said. "She knows we'll be looking. Susana is cocky, but she isn't stupid. She might try the day after, but I think she'll visit the day before, so that when we get there, there will be a calling card on the grave. She might even be in the area to watch us find it, but I doubt it. If she is, she'll be safely far away where we can't catch her."

DeGraff frowned. "You think so, Agent Starling?"

"Yes, I do." Lisa pushed forward some sheets she had photocopied before the meeting. "Susana Alvarez killed four Chicago police officers and walked away. She knows to keep her head about her. Staking out the grave won't work. She'll twist it on us."

"And what would you do?" DeGraff asked. "Pass it up?"

Lisa shook her head. "Have agents staked out around the graveyard the day before the anniversary," she said. "The day of, have agents with heat scopes and maybe bloodhounds. But I'm thinking she'll leave us a calling card that will convey her contempt all by itself. I don't think she'll be there, but we can cover all bases."

"Not a bad idea," Chief Quincy said, and DeGraff scowled again. "It's a little expensive, though. Any other ways to track her?"

DeGraff thought for a moment. Then, in a carefully neutral tone of voice, he asked, "Agent Starling? How often do you get your nails done?"

Lisa opened her mouth and said nothing for a moment or two. Then, in a tone of voice that was just as carefully neutral, she said, "I don't get my nails done, sir. It gets in the way of firearms practice."

DeGraff sighed as if she was being terribly unreasonable. "You know what I mean. How often do girls get their nails done?"

"How often do women get their nails done, do you mean? It depends. And what relevance does this have to the investigation?"

He held his hands up in the air helplessly. "Because. Girls like to get their nails done. If we know how long it takes--"

"I don't," Lisa said archly.

"Lecter does!" DeGraff reached into his folder and took out a photocopied receipt. He brandished it in the air and waved his other hand as if to suggest that the whole idea was a silly bunch of female nonsense. Lisa stared at him blankly. For a moment, the image of Dr. Hannibal Lecter arose in her mind, his hand extended to receive a manicure.

Ralph Lima leaned forward in his chair. He raised a finger at Lisa.

"Wait a moment, Agent Starling," he said. "I think I know where Peter is going with this." He took the receipt.

"Susana Alvarez got her nails done in DC two years ago. Now don't take this the wrong way, but you are the only woman here." He chuckled and raised his hand palm up to show he meant no offense. "We're all simpleminded and brutish men here, and this sort of thing is not something we know. This receipt says 'color and fill'. Do you know what that means?"

Lisa pressed her lips together. Ralph had not been antagonistic towards her – he had actually been pretty friendly. And as annoying as it was, DeGraff might have found a way to track the monster. She could see where he was going with this.

"That means that she probably had acrylic nails glued on," Lisa said hedgingly. She wanted to help, but it galled her that DeGraff had thought of it. It was so simple, too. "You have to get them filled as your nail grows. That's probably what she did." She saw the look of lean triumph on DeGraff's face as she continued. The worst part was he had neatly backed her into a corner. If she refused to help, she would look like the uncooperative one. If she did, she would look like the team's beauty consultant. "Every two weeks, three weeks, maybe, depending on how quickly her nails grow."

"And that's a way to track her," DeGraff concluded triumphantly. "She's big into all this girly stuff. Nails, hair, hell, I don't know. Whatever girls get done. And she's got expensive tastes. Just like Dr. Lecter. She'll insist on the best. We ought to hand out her picture to the best salons, see if any of them have seen her."

Chief Quincy nodded. "Good idea, DeGraff," he said.

Inwardly, Lisa seethed. Her carefully researched suggestion that Susana Alvarez Lecter would visit her grandfather's grave the day before the anniversary of his death was forgotten. What everyone would remember would be DeGraff – DeGraff, the woman-hater, no less – and his theory that Susana Alvarez Lecter could be tracked by her indulgences at the best beauty salons. And damn it all, he was right. There were only a few salons that would meet Susana Alvarez Lecter's standards, and they might remember her.

"I'd be happy to go to New York and pass out her picture," Lisa said helpfully, smiling at DeGraff with faux perkiness. She waited for him to try and torpedo the idea. He would not want to share glory with her.

But he was perhaps a bit magnanimous in his victory.

"That's a fine idea," he said, and for a moment Lisa wondered if he intended to keep her out of the loop. Was this a trap? A garbage detail to keep her busy?

"But I do think you ought to have a more experienced agent with you when you go," he added.

Chief Quincy shrugged. "She doesn't need a babysitter," he said.

DeGraff smiled slickly. "I'm not saying she does, Don. But we partner up for a reason."

"Beauty salons tend to be low-danger areas, sir," Lisa said half-sarcastically.

"And what if Susana Alvarez Lecter is in one when you go and she sees you? You willing to bet your life you can outdraw her? She does know what you look like, you know. " He shook his head and smiled tolerantly, as if dealing with a little girl who did not understand why she had to wear a jacket in the cold.

"I'll partner up with her, then," Ralph Lima burst in.

Neither Lisa nor DeGraff had expected this. They looked at him with identical looks of surprise.

"Oh, I suppose they won't expect a bearded old dude like me at these places, but I'll go with her. And you know, it's been a while since I last had a manicure." He examined his nails critically.

Everyone laughed. Everyone except DeGraff and Lisa.

…

Roland Mapp got out of the shower and looked in the mirror. He stretched his big black body and was pleased. He had just gotten home from work. The bathroom was white marble, with a black sink and shower stall. It was very modern.

Roland was a stockbroker, and did quite well for himself. He brought in a very comfortable income, and lived in a new apartment building on the Upper West Side. After toweling himself off, he dressed quickly and efficiently. He chose a new pair of black slacks, a white shirt, and a royal-blue jacket. He glanced at himself in the mirror again and was pleased with what he saw.

It was Friday night, and Roland intended to find himself some companionship at the Soho clubs he frequented. His work left little time for a relationship, and he didn't want the time and hassle of a relationship anyway. But he had time, and he meant to call his parents and aunt before he left.

Roland sat down at his computer and entered the necessary information to videoconference with his parents. Although he liked to live well, he was thrifty in some cases. He had a high-speed Internet hookup, and with that he could speak with his parents for as long as he liked for free. Plus, he could see them too. Much better than the phone.

After checking in with his parents, he videoconferenced with his aunt. She had a connection, but a slow one – an old-style DSL line. Roland shook his head, amazed at it. How primitive. Then again, in that little Podunk town in West Virginia, he wasn't surprised. Still, he could see his aunt and talk to her. Things had been hard for Aunt Ardelia ever since she had to leave the FBI. He and his parents were her only family.

She seemed quite happy to see him. Behind her, Roland could see her empty kitchen table with one place setting. Something yellow sat on a plate where he had apparently interrupted her meal. Mac and cheese, he thought. How sad. If she came up to see him, he would cook her a killer meal. Roland liked to cook.

"Am I interrupting your dinner, Aunt Ardelia?" he asked, even though he knew the answer.

She shook her pixelated head. "Not at all," she said. "It's always nice to talk to you."

"How's life in Menatchie?"

She shrugged. "It'll do. Every now and then I think of applying for reinstatement to the FBI."

Roland had to be delicate here. "Would they take you back?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "I was on suspension when I resigned. They might let bygones be bygones. I wouldn't run Behavioral Sciences again, of course, but they might let me be a profiler there." She laughed ruefully and gestured at the old house around her. "Of course, it would mean giving up all this."

"Do it," Roland said promptly. "Worst they can say is no, right?"

"I don't know," she said distantly. "If they did…I don't know what I'd do."

"C'mon," Roland urged. "If you don't, you'll spend the rest of your life wondering what would happen if you did."

"I suppose," she said. "I'll think about it. It was good talking with you, Roland."

"Bye, Aunt Ardelia," he said.

"Bye," she said. Then the image of her disappeared and was replaced by a gray box informing him that the other party had ended the connection, and asked him to acknowledge this change in developments by clicking OK.

Roland rose, took the elevator downstairs, and hailed a cab to SoHo. The clubs were hopping already, as people went inside to seek out libation and companionship. He muscled his way through the crowd and made his way to the bar.

He scoped out the women who looked available. One in particular caught his eye. She was alone, over by the edge of the bar, and sipped at a glass of amber wine. She was looking at him. Her gaze was direct and piercing. That was good. Roland preferred women who knew what they wanted. He knifed through the crowd and made his way to her side.

Up close, she was a stunner. Perfect makeup, long brown hair tied back in a ponytail, and that dress fit her like a scarlet glove. She smiled at him with red lips. Her eyes were easily her best feature, though. Maroon eyes, like pools of blood. He smiled confidently at her.

"I saw you looking at me," he said. "What's your name?"

"Susana," she answered.

…

Ardelia Mapp sat on her couch and clicked the remote desultorily. Thank God for cable TV, she thought. A thousand channels and nothing she particularly wanted to watch. She settled on a movie about the FBI. It hurt in some ways to see it, but it reminded her of happier times.

She watched the faux FBI agents try to profile a killer who skinned his victims and smirked. Based off a true story, I guess. No, wait! You can't mess up a crime scene like that! The actress playing the young, pretty FBI agent busily went about tearing apart a garage in which she was told she would discover a severed head.

"If you worked for me, kiddo, you'd be fired for getting your mitts in a crime scene like that," she told the TV actress. "You wear gloves. All the time, every time."

You're not FBI anymore. The only crime scenes you see now are bar fights, domestic disputes, and shoplifters.

An electronic tone warbled, breaking her concentration. Ardelia lifted her head and looked around. It wasn't the phone. She knew that right off the top of her head. Wasn't her portable, either.

She glanced around and saw a gray box on her computer, which was making the warbling sound. She walked over to it and examined it closely.

Incoming call from Roland Mapp appeared on the screen.

Ardelia frowned. Had something come up? She'd talked to him hours ago.

She clicked OK. Instead of starting the call, another box came up.

This is a secure call. Click OK to automatically adjust your settings.

Ardelia clicked OK again. Her screen turned black for an instant, and then her nephew appeared on the screen. He was seated in his leather computer chair. His arms lay on the armrest. Silver duct tape held his wrists to the chair. One eye was swollen shut. A nasty knot swelled on his forehead just over the eye.

"Roland?" she asked. "Are you OK?"

Roland did not reply. Another head appeared next to his in the upper corner of the frame. A young woman, with brown hair and merciless eyes. Merciless maroon eyes. Ardelia knew who it was instantly.

"You," she breathed to Susana Alvarez Lecter.

"Me," the young woman in the screen agreed.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"What does it look like?" Susana asked reasonably. Her hand appeared in the frame. In it was Roland Mapp's Henckel meat cleaver. "I owe you some pain, you know. You caused me enough."

Ardelia Mapp's face slowly melted into an expression of horror. She reached out and touched the cold glass of the monitor as if she could put her hand through and save her nephew. "No," she whimpered powerlessly.

Susana laid her head next to her bound victim's and smiled coldly. "Don't we make a cute couple?" she questioned. Roland trembled. The thick piece of duct tape over his mouth prevented him from adding his opinion.

"Susana, don't," Ardelia said powerlessly. Her knees turned to jelly. "Your beef is with me. Roland hasn't done anything. Let him go."

"Well," Susana said, "problem is, you'll all the way out there and I'm here. Efficiency, you know." She grinned into the camera. "And this will hurt you far, far worse than my killing you would ever do."

Ardelia's mind spun. This monster meant to kill her only nephew right in front of her. There was nothing she could do to prevent it. Even if she called the NYPD, by the time they sent someone out Roland would be dead and Susana long gone.

"Please. Please don't," she whined. "God, don't. Take me. It's me you want."

Susana tilted the blade of the meat cleaver so that it reflected the light into the webcam Ardelia watched through. She tested the blade with her thumb, nodding approvingly.

"Nice," she said. She turned to the bound man next to her. "You have good taste in cutlery," she told him. "Henckels. None of that cheap stuff for you, right? Unlike your aunt, you've got some taste."

Slowly, paralyzed with fear, Roland shook his head.

"They say you have to be careful with these, though," she warned him. "They're well made and tough and heavy. You can chop off fingers with these, if you're not careful."

"NO!" Ardelia screamed, and slammed her own fingers against the monitor because she knew what was coming.

Susana raised the meat cleaver high and brought it down where Roland's hand was bound. The blade sank into the ebony wood of the chair arm. Behind the duct-tape gag, Roland screamed and threw himself about ineffectually.

With a horrible grin of triumph, Susana lifted his severed fingers and displayed them for Ardelia. "What do you know," she said. "It did." She dropped them on the floor like an unpleasant detail. Ardelia glanced over at her phone longingly.

On the screen, Susana smirked. "Thinking of calling the cops, Ardelia? You won't possibly have time."

"No," Ardelia said quickly. "No, of course not."

Think like a cop. Think like a cop, Ardelia. Get the evidence.

Ardelia stealthily moved her mouse over to the 'Record Call' icon. Even if she couldn't stop Susana, she could gather evidence. Maybe keep her talking long enough to get a cop out there. But if Susana saw her with a phone, she would kill Roland immediately.

Ardelia clicked 'Record Call'. Nothing happened. She clicked it a few more times before noticing that it was grayed out. She strove to keep herself from cursing at the damn computer.

Where is the damn thing? On the screen, Susana was running the blade of the cleaver under Roland's chin. He wasn't bleeding yet, so she had to be just torturing him. Hang on, Roland. Working on it. Ardelia selected 'Tools'. A small submenu appeared on the screen.

'Record Call' was grayed out again. Ardelia's lips twisted in frustration.

"Ready, Ardelia?" Susana called mockingly. "Better watch this. You don't want to miss it."

Ardelia reached out with her left foot, intending to drag her phone over to her witbout Susana seeing it. With her hand, she was frantically trying to search the help files for her videoconference program. She chose 'Record Call'. She twined her foot around the phone cord and began to haul it over.

To record a call, click 'Record Call', select 'Record Call' from the Tools menu, or press Ctrl-Shift-R. Secure calls cannot be recorded,.the computer informed her.

Goddamn computers, Ardelia thought.

She had to stall Susana. Stall her, keep him alive.

"Susana, please," she said in a placatory tone. "I know you're angry with me. But Roland is innocent. He hasn't done anything. It's me you want."

"Well, yes I do," Susana agreed, "but I wouldn't be caught dead in a hole like Menatchie. Honestly, Ardelia. My mother fled West Virginia and never came back. I didn't like it either myself. They weren't very neighborly."

Roland whimpered like a whipped puppy as she continued playing with the cleaver under his chin. Ardelia tried to block it out of her mind as she twined the cord around her foot. The heavy black phone dragged an inch closer to her.

"Susana, listen to me. If you kill Roland, I will hunt you down to the ends of the earth. I'll throw you in front of another truck. I'll hunt you down and make you sorry." She pointed at the image of the monster on the screen.

"Such bravado," Susana said. "You couldn't find my parents for years, Ardelia. And now you're not even good enough for the FBI."

"He's my only nephew," Ardelia implored. "You want me? Fine. Name the time and the place. I'll be there. Unarmed, no other cops, no nothing. Just don't kill him."

The phone advanced another inch or two. Its rubber feet clung to the floor and made it difficult to pull it along.

"I almost believe you," Susana said dreamily. "Now let me get this straight…if I put down this cleaver and spare your nephew, you'll let me kill you in his place."

"Yes," Ardelia panted, thinking of Agent Starling. Thinking of the good old HRT, the Hostage Rescue Team, lined with with snipers in trees, all sighted in on Susana Alvarez Lecter. She thought of several bullets all fired at once entering the girl's body.

"This cleaver," Susana specified, waggling it in front of the camera.

"Yes, that cleaver," Ardelia said through gritted teeth. She fought the urge to add you psychotic little bitch. The phone was four or five scant inches from her hand. She lowered herself in the chair and strained to reach it. Her fingertips touched the smooth plastic of the receiver.

Susana tossed the cleaver onto the floor with a loud clatter.

"There you go," she said. Ardelia let out a mighty sigh. She carefully removed the receiver from the hook and reached down to dial the number that rang into headquarters. Not 911, the local number.

Susana tilted her head and frowned.

"Why are you hunching like that?" she demanded.

Ardelia dropped the phone. Her eyes widened. The phone was one of the old Bell Telephone models, well made and durable. When the receiver hit her hardwood floor, it made an audible clunk. She prayed that Susana had not heard it.

"You were trying to call your buddies, weren't you, Ardelia?" Susana said in the tones of a girl who has caught her friend cheating on her diet.

"No. No, I just kicked something by accident. The cat." Ardelia shook her head.

"You have a plastic cat? That's so tacky it might be true, given your taste. But I don't tolerate liars."

Like an evil magician, Susana produced a long, thin filet knife from outside of the camera's view. Her eyes flared as she displayed the knife for the camera. Roland threw his head back and around in a fruitless, final act of defiance. Her eyes bored into Ardelia's all the while. She drew the knife firmly across Roland's throat. Her lips curled up in a cruel smile as she saw Ardelia's face turn ashy gray as the blood began to ooze from the long slit in Roland's throat. In a gesture of contempt, she reversed her grip on the knife so that she held it like a hammer and put the carbon-steel point into Roland's eye. She turned the blade a measured ninety degrees. Fortunately for Roland, he was already dying quickly and did not suffer for terribly long. The knife stuck out like an exclamation point from the ruins of his eye. He gave one or two more ineffectual bucks against his bonds, and then slumped back dead.

Susana stood up and away from the corpse so that she did not get blood on her. She tilted her head and pointed a perfectly manicured and flawlessly polished nail at Ardelia. She would never know just how much she sounded like a young Clarice Starling.

"There," she said. "You goddam happy now? You killed him, Ardelia. You and your goddam

plastic cat."

Tears burned behind Ardelia's eyes. She stared at the horror on her monitor with a look of bombed-out horror on her face. She shook her head slowly. Then the first few threads of rage began to seep into her.

"You little bitch," she said in a dry, toneless voice. "I swear by everything I hold holy that I'm going to hunt you down and kill you if it's the last thing I do."

"You have to catch me first," Susana said archly. Her hand came down on the mouse. Her image disappeared on Ardelia's computer. Replacing it was a simple gray box that read:

The other party has terminated the connection.